Dear Paul
by Feelitallaround
Summary: Dear Paul, it kills me everyday to think that you are out there risking your life in Iraq. I sometimes stay awake at night wondering if you're safe or not. I miss you Paul. Only six months until you get out, than we can finally be together. -Bella.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! So this is another tester story. If you like it, I'll continue writing it but if you don't it will just be dropped. So make sure you review or subscribe or whatever you do on here.

This is basically like the book/movie Dear John, but with different people and a semi-different plot. ALL RIGHTS GO TO NICHOLAS SPARKS. He's an amazing writer and you guys should all check out one of his books.

All character rights go to Stephanie Meyer, I can't say she's an amazing writer though because I hate her books, but I love messing around with them!

So I hope you enjoy!

_**Prologue**_

_ Forks, 2007_

I can't even remember what the army was like before her letters had started to arrive. Those letters literally got me through the day. Back then there was nothing better than reading her neatly written words. I remember I'd laugh to myself seeing how her perfectly neat handwriting slowly transformed into a messy scrawl as her hand got tired. The guys would always give me shit after I was done reading her letters. They'd make a shitty day ten times happier, and no matter what I'd always smile and laugh when reading them.

I remember before I met Bella there was this reporter doing some kind of tag-along job with my unit. I understood the fact that he was a reporter and that reporter's ask questions. But there came a point when I got really annoyed with him, he'd ask personal questions that didn't have one thing to do with the army and it pissed me off. The answers to those questions weren't any of his business. I had always had a temper and in two ways that temper was good and bad for the army. Now, when I look back on it, I don't really understand why I got so angry when he asked me that specific question. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't know what love really was at the time and that I had never ever had one person tell me that they love me and actually mean it. So when he asked me "What does it truly mean to love another?" I punched him in the face.

Love was a foreign thing to me back then and for years that question would go on to haunt me. I'd like to believe I know the answer to that question now but I don't anymore. There was a time in my life when I did. Now I realize how short that time was and how much I should've appreciated what I had at the time. When I was young I never saw the typical family scenery. Not even my friends had that life. I didn't want it neither, I was glad not having parents. I had grown to hate marriage and the thought of the all American family life, but most of all I had grown to hate love. I hated love when I was younger, or more like I hated the idea of love. Even though I'm more aware of what love is since I have experienced it, I now hate it once again. When I was younger I hated the idea of getting married. I hated the idea of the perfect family, the soccer mom and the white picket fence. I just hated everything that I knew I could never have.

Once I met Bella my views on all of that changed. I suddenly wanted all of it. I wanted the white picket fence, the SUV that would get so messy because of the trips to soccer games and school events. I wanted kids and I wanted out of the army so we could start that life. I felt great. Love felt so good, but when your first experience with love comes, your first experience with true heart break follows along behind it. I had experienced disappointment in my life, a whole lot of disappoint but never had I experienced heart break and damn, did it hurt like a bitch. The day she left was the day my thoughts turned negative about love once again.

I'd like to believe that no matter how long it's been Bella and I could still make it through this. We could meet up again and reconnect. I can hold her in my arms and whisper in her ear. And while part of me wants believes that's possible, I know that's not possible. When I leave here again, I'll never come back.

For now though, I'll sit here on this rock, somewhere in the mountains. It overlooks the meadow that her large modern white house sits in. The house is so unlike Bella, but so like him. When we were together she'd always talk about getting a nice beach house near the water somewhere. But that was back then and this is now. I have to remember times have change and when times change, so do people.

I have no plans to tell her I came to visit her, well more of see her than visit. I have no plans to speak to her; I just want to see her face one last time. Part of me aches at the thought of her being so close that I could simply go to her house and talk to her. And as simple as that does sound, I wouldn't even know what to say once face to face with her. She'd be so close but so untouchable, and that aches my heart to no end. We have two separate lives now. It's rather hard for me to accept that truth, but our lives haven't intertwined in six years.

The trees around me look the same as they did when I use to hike this forest with _her_, I didn't expect anything to change in the years I've been gone and true to my thoughts nothing changed but me and Bella. Forks looks the same now as it did so long ago. It's still dreary and rainy, and surrounded my thousands of trees. The people are the same as is the fact that only two towns away, is my hometown. La Push, Washington is quite the same as Forks besides the fact that it's a poor Indian reservation that meets the ocean.

It's a rare day in Forks, Washington. Behind me, the sun is peaking over the mountain and casting a warm glow on the small town. The forest around me is waking up, birds chirping their songs and animals rustling. It doesn't scare me though, hardly anything scares me anymore. The air smells of pine and earth, a total different smell than I'm used to, total opposite of the smell of desert and waste.

I don't know what I expected when I came here, but when Bella walks out of her house my breath catches in my throat. I watch, thanking my gifted eyesight, as she stretches her arms over her head before descending the steps of the porch. She makes her way around the side of the house and towards her cliché bright red barn. I let out a lifeless laugh, the sound disappearing with the breeze. I snort and it echoes beyond the trees, making birds fly away in fright leaving their homes to wrestle along with the breeze. At that moment I realize just how alone I am in life. No matter what, my voice will always just be an echo.

In the pasture, Bella's horses acknowledge her presence and it reminds me much of one of those old movies where the queen walks out and all her followers kneel before her. The horses trot forward, each one crowding the fence. They call out greetings, one after another, and my first thought is she seems too small to moving around so easily. But she was always so comfortable with them, as they were with her. She had that effect on people. Her presence alone would draw unusual people in. It's not because she's weird or rude, or anything like that really, but more like because she's kind and sweet. Her kindness and beauty draw people in her. She's a comfortable person to be around.

I remember she took me horseback riding with her once. It really isn't my thing. I'd rather surf than ride horses, back then I know she'd rather go horseback riding than surf any day. Even now I'm pretty sure she'd rather ride a horse rather than a surfboard. I'm not even sure if she surfs anymore. That's just another thing that probably died, when our relationship did. She's comfortable with riding horses, as I am comfortable with sitting in the ocean waiting for a wave.

I watch as she retrieves one of her horses. Even though it's a dull memory in my head, the horse she brings out is the horse I rode so many years ago, but I can't seem to remember its name. She rubs its nose, and even from so far away I can tell she's grinning. After a moment, she turns and makes her way to the red barn.

She vanishes, and then emerges carrying two large pails, one in each hand. Her arms are stick straight glued to her side, the buckets weighing her down. I can make a bet that they are probably oats for the horses, but I'm not sure. I fight the sudden urge to make myself useful, and go down there and help her carry those. But I know for a fact that'd be a horrible idea. She hangs the pails on the fence, and a couple of horses trot over to them. I watch a she goes back into the barn, still clearly smiling. She comes back saddle and bridle now occupying her hands and again I wonder how someone so tiny can have so much strength.

I had saw Bella a year ago, and even though aging lines had become apparent on her face she still looked the same. To me, she'll always be twenty-one and I'll always be twenty-three. I'll always remember that day we met on the beach and I'll always remember the events that went down. It was a short time; the time we were together. Before I reenlisted, and before I received her letter. That letter changed my life. Believe it or not, if that had not been sent a lot of things would be different for me.

Now, at twenty-nine years old, I sometimes wonder about the decisions I have made in my life. At this current moment in, the army is all I know. I have nowhere to go but back to base. When on leave all I do is go stay in a hotel somewhere, or I just stay on base and chill. I don't have a home away from the army, because frankly the army is my home. I don't have any family, and I don't believe I ever will. When people ask me, I tell them the truth, I'm a grunt, I still live on base in Germany and all I know a little too much about killing people. I have maybe a thousand dollars saved up in the bank, and I haven't been on a date in years. The only thing I officially own is my Harley and surfboard, which both live on base with me. Most of the guys that were originally on my unit back then are now out of the army and I rarely talk to them anymore. I don't think I'll be getting out anytime soon, I'm getting shipped out back to Iraq in the next few months and from there on, we'll see if I can manage to stay alive.

Sometimes I contemplate what life would be like if I never met Isabella Marie Swan, and I dribble it back and forth in my head on most days that I have free time to think. But as lay out all that I've went through, I don't think I'd change one thing. Even though our story didn't' get a happily ever after, there was still a time in my life when I was happy and even though it's all in the past now, I'll never forget that time.

When I look back at the scene down below me, my mouth goes dry and I'm lost for words. Well, it's not like I have to say anything anyways. Bella's not alone now, a little boy, probably around the age six stands next to her leg. I can tell he is talking because her heads keeps bobbing up and down. The thing that startles me though is his looks. He has dark russet skin, much like mine, and dark hair, so unlike Bella's. I can't point out his facial features from this distance. He can't be Bella's son though, he's too old to be her son and he's too native. I watch as Bella leans down, smiling like usual and starts to tickle him. The words that come out of his mouth make my blood run cold and my breathing become shallow, he calls her mom.


	2. Welcome Home

****The characters of the Twilight Saga are owned by Stephenie Meyer.****

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Welcome Home<strong>

_I'm so sorry about the long wait. I forget my password and email to this account a long time ago._

_I appreciate everyone who has taken their time to read this story. Enjoy._

_Chapter Song: Welcome Home-Radical Face_

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><p>The recurring thought pierced my thoughts for what seemed like the billionth time. The true meaning of life stood clear in my mind, scratching for me to give it a definition-to figure out what exactly it really meant. Each time I even came close to figuring out what it meant to me, my mind would blanch at those five heavy loaded words and tune out the entire subject.<p>

There was a time where I'd wonder where my life would take me. Those thoughts were immediately erased once reality set in. I grew older and society affected the way I thought. Every dream I once aspired to carry out was brushed away like little particles of dust. To society, I was _nothing. _Living on an Indian Reservation in the middle of nowhere doesn't grant you a college education and a high rank in society. Rarely do people actually leave the Rez and go to college and it's a definite never that anyone from the Rez becomes something to society. It just isn't planned in our futures. We're not stupid people, we never have been. We just don't need to waste money we don't have to waste on a pointless education program that may or may not secure us a job. On the Rez, it's safer for us to live. We can live with the people who accept us and we're insured a job.

Whenever I step foot back in my home of La Push, Washington I tell myself be grateful. Even though I don't see La Push all too much, I still call it home. I find myself deployed in Iraq more than I'd like and each time I grind my teeth at the never end of flowing sand in my socks and clothes, the damn stuff gets everywhere. The sun is overly hot there and they have sand storms like none other. It's pure poverty and even though the Rez isn't exactly the suburbs, it's better than Iraq.

Living on the Pacific coast hasn't been that bad. La Push has a mile long stretch of beautiful land, with large rocky cliffs overlooking the rarely calm water and tall green trees boarding First beach. Our land sits fourteen short miles from the small town of Forks and is next to the Quileute River. Unlike most on the Rez, I fully appreciated my access to the sea. Whether I was cliff diving or surfing, I had a grand time. I taught myself how to surf when I was six. I remember I found a surfboard in the garage, I was so fascinated. At that point surfing became my rock, when my father left us and my mother became quite distracted with alcohol, surfing was my outlet. The ocean always had a way of being there when nobody else was.

I was so angry at the world when I was younger. Being born on the Indian Reservation makes me an immediate member of the Quileute tribe. I couldn't be taken away from my incapable mother by the state, nor did I want to, but I didn't want to see her. The tribal council could have easily placed me in another families care while Tribal Chief ordered her to fix her shit. They ignored the problem though, even when it was right in front of their faces.

This place brings memories I'd love to forget. Memories aren't always joyful when you had a messed up father. I stare out at the passing line of trees; the site gives me a weird feeling. I'm so used to being able to see out for miles-miles and miles of nothing. Now I can't see ten feet around me and the thought scares my taunted mind.

"I'm doing better now," my mom's voice breaks through my thoughts. I glance over at her, she's nervous. Her long dark hair twisted in a bun on the top of her head and eyes glued to the road in front of us. I pierce my lips as she swallows hard, her eyes flickering over and meeting mine.

"I hope," I find myself saying as we pull into the driveway. Before the car even comes to a complete stop I've opened the door and am halfway out. I stop and turn back to look at her. "Just please don't go back to him."

I didn't bother to hear what she had to say. So instead, I walked into the house and quickly went into my room not even glancing to see how disastrous our house most likely looked.

It felt so weird being back in my old room. The small room painted navy blue, closed in on me as I slammed the door shut. Nothing had changed since I had last been here two years ago. I highly doubted my mother even went in here while I was gone. The bed was still pushed up against the wall right under the window; my desk across from it and my dresser about six inches away from that. The posters I had put up somewhere in the time I was in high school still hung on the wall and a layer of thick dust coated just about everything. I'll have to clean it up later.

I opened my closet; I had cleaned it out during my first and last leave I had spent in this place. Throwing my duffel bag on the floor, I grabbed my old black vans and the Penny board I bought sometime during my senior year. Making my way to the window, I pull on my Vans with one hand. Climbing on my bed, I pull open the window. Sliding out and sitting on the edge, I look down at the small drop below me.

I pause. "What the fuck?"

Flowers, there are actual real real flowers lining the strip of backside of the house. Pink, purple, blue, you name it, they're there. My mom never cared what the outside looked like, never. Damn, she never even cared what the inside looked like and she definitely didn't care what her son did.

"Paul, what do you think you're doing?" I'm startled out of my thoughts by moms voice. "And watch your language."

"What?" I stutter, my eyes meeting mom's identical ones. She's holding a garden hose and has one hand on her hip. She raises her eyebrows at me.

"Are you about to sneak out and jump on my flowers?" she questions looking at me. "You're twenty-three for holy sakes and you're about to sneak out? And with that damn board? That thing almost killed you."

I'm frozen, pierced with shook as she grinds me with words that actually seem like she cares. My hand grips the window edge and I jump out, landing on the grass about an inch away from her precious flowers. I look her straight in the eyes..

"You remember that?" It isn't what I wanted to say nor was it something I wanted to bring up.

When I was 17 years old, my first quarter of my senior year in high school I got a Penny board to help me get around. I needed something light in weight and small, plus I hated bikes. I ended up going to a party down at first beach, some high school kids from Forks were throwing it. I got totally wasted and when it was time to push home, I could barely stand. Most the time I just cut through the forest and I'm right in my backyard. My buddy Jared decided it would be fun to take the long way home and to go that way, you have to go down a huge hill coming down from the cliffs. I crashed half way down it, my board got speed wobble but it didn't help that I was totally drunk. I ended up in the hospital with a broken leg, shattered ankle, dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and more road rash than road kill. It was horrible and for a moment, the doctors thought I'd be paralyzed. I ended up fine though, missed four months of my senior year but I didn't really care.

During the two weeks I was in the hospital my mother visited me once and it was only to yell at me for the huge hospital bill she'd have to pay. I never had insurance, mostly because my mom refused to pay it. The hospital bill was huge and luckily the Reservation is one big family. They helped us pay it all.

"How could I not," it was a statement, not a question. She let out a little laugh continuing to water her flowers. I twitched, wanting nothing more than to get out of this awkward situation.

I don't want to talk to her; I haven't since I was probably six years old. So I do the only thing I know how to do, I walk away.

"I'm making dinner, please be there." She calls out, her voice shaky and nervous.

I don't even glance back. "I'm meeting friends for dinner."

It's a lie, a complete utter lie. Guilt settles in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn't feel guilty though, I shouldn't feel anything towards that woman beside disgust and dislike. It's not like she hasn't ever lied to me before.

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><p>It doesn't take me long to get to Sue's diner. In the downtown part of La Push there is a narrow street with a few locally owned shops; Sue's diner sits right across from them. Riding my board was a bit sketchy at first seeing as I haven't ridden it since before I enlisted.<p>

Sue's place is pretty small and always seems to have a good amount of people in it. Everyone loves her cooking, even though I know she doesn't actually cook half the time. Her son helps out and so do some of his friends. The exterior of the old place is falling apart. The wooden walls are slowly falling apart and the roof has so much damage from the constant rain fall, I'm surprised it's still intact.

"Paul!" Sue grins from behind the counter. She shuts the door of the pie holder case and quickly makes her way towards me. Smiling, she wipes her hands on her apron before wrapping me in a tight hug. "It's so nice to have you back." She whispers in my ear.

"Thanks Sue." I say, returning her hug. I don't even bother to tell her that I go back in two short weeks.

She pulls away and grins at me. "Now look at you! You've grown so much, but they're probably feeding you nothing in that army I bet." She winks at me.

"They aren't." I tell her with a short laugh. The army never feeds us right. I haven't had a homemade meal in two years. I'm so sick of the fake shit they give us in those grey packages.

"Well no worries, I'll personally whip you up your favorite." She tells me. I smile and thank her before making my way to the counter. Sitting in the red stool, I watch as she goes in the kitchen, a small grin on her face.

Sue has always liked me, even when I was a shit starting teenager that never went to school and always got in too much trouble. She supported me, no matter what I did. Whenever I needed some extra cash she always allowed me to work at the diner. She's tried to make my life better, always treating me like I was her own son. She even tried to get me to compete in a surfing competition. I refused though.

I look around and take note that there are a few people eying me. In this small reservation everyone knows everyone. I had a bad reputation here and nobody can forget it. I nod at a passing man with his young son; he glares at me and shakes his head. I sigh, wrapping my hand over my scarred fist. Nobody can forget.

"Here you are." Sues warm voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I look down at the steaming steak, potato, and Sue's special pasta and my mouth waters. I used to get his every time.

"Thanks Sue." I thank her before digging in.

"No problem Paul." She rolls her eyes at my antics, but laughs never the less. "Now why you lying to that mother of yours?"

I look up at her in surprise. "What?"

"We both know that you aren't meeting any friends Paul. Now why are you lying to her?" she questions, wiping the counter off, gaze fixed on me.

I swallow hard and shrug. "She wants to have dinner and talk. I don't want to talk nor do I want to have dinner with her."

She lets out a sigh. "She really has changed."

I look down at the red counter top and shake my head. "So I've heard."

"It's okay to not forgive her Paul, but people do change and that woman has." Her tone of voice is final, yet gentle. I know Sue means well and even if my mom has changed, I'll never forgive her for what she has done.

Sue slips back into the kitchen. I finish my meal and look over to the open window where all the booths are. I do a double take. There's a girl sitting alone at one of the booths. I didn't even notice her when I was looking earlier. She's definitely not native, with her pale skin and long mahogany hair. She's reading a book and I can tell she's really into it by the way she's hunched over the table, her eyes fixed on the words. I watch as her hair falls in front of her face and she runs her free hand threw it, pushing it out of her face. She's attractive, not hot, but pretty. I can tell even from here that she doesn't wear makeup, which says a lot about a girl. She doesn't care what people think about her.

"Ah, I see you've spotted Bella." Sue says I look at her startled. She jerks her head over towards where the girl, Bella, is sitting.

"Huh? Oh no I was just looking,"

Sue lets out a laugh. "It's okay Paul. I won't tell." She winks at me. "Bella is quite the fascination around here. She's from Forks but loves it here. Always tells me that the smell of the ocean mixed with the trees puts her in bliss."

I glance over at Bella. She's drinking coffee out of a white mug, the book still in her left hand and her eyes still glued on the words. I snicker as a slosh of coffee drops on her white t-shirt. She curses, throws her book on the table before trying to clean the stain out.

"Poor girl, she's more clumsy than anyone I've ever met." Sue rushes towards the booth that Bella sits in, wet rag in her hand.

I grin, pulling my wallet out I put a twenty on the counter. I grab my board before making my way out into the chilly air my mind still on the beauty Bella.

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><p><em>I think I'm pretty okay with how this chapter turned out. I really hope you guys are. <em>

_Please feel free to let me know your thoughts. Thank you._

_I plan on updating soon. _

_-Rosie_


	3. Home

**Chapter two: Home**

_Again, I am sorry about the long wait. I thought I'd have this up sooner, but I'm a slow writer. _

_Thank you so much for reading my story and I hope you enjoy. _

_Chapter Song: Home-Gabrielle Aplin _

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><p>I rub my sleepy eyes, the uncomfortable ancient mattress below me squeaking. Turning over I roll my eyes and look out the dirty window. The tops of the trees block out most of what would be an amazing view of the ocean. It's a beautiful day, the sun is breaking through the surprisingly clean white clouds and the trees are at a standstill. Most days are windy and it's nice to see them getting a small break from the chilly breezes. My dark comforter is warm against my bare skin meaning one thing; it's not only sunny outside, it's over seventy degrees for once. I smile; it's a perfect day for surfing.<p>

The sun casts a glaring shadow across my room making my tired eyes squint against the brightness. Rolling out of bed I trip over the tangled blankets before throwing open my closet door feeling a bit of frustration course through me. The small space is about empty, my army duffel sits on the one bucket full of old clothes and above hang a few lonesome hangers hung up on the rack. I throw my army duffel to the side before looking through the bucket. I find my wetsuit and Jammers neatly folded on the bottom and I pull them both out already knowing that I'm going to have to squeeze into them. I've put on so much muscle while being in the army that sometimes I don't even recognize myself. Slipping on the tight Jammers, I let out a laugh at how they barely fit my tree trunk legs. I pull on the legs of my wetsuit but leave the rest hanging below my belly button. It's a bit tight but it'll have to do until I get some new gear. There is no way I am surfing in this ocean without a wetsuit

I'm mildly surprised to find our kitchen well stocked with food. Growing up there was hardly any food in this house. I practically lived off of Marconi and Cheese and Microwave noodles when I was younger. The only time I got a home cooked meal was when my grandparents visited or when I went to Sues. Walking out the door with a banana and bagel in hand I make my way to the shed behind the house. I think my board is exactly where I last left it last, neatly stacked on the upper shelf. I don't bother to call out to tell mother I'm leaving. She's never cared before.

The path I made through the short section of forest behind my house shortens the time I arrive at the beach. My path has remained the same over the time I haven't been on it, except for the few sections of overgrowth, other than that it serves me well. I walk through the sand, my bare feet in complete bliss as the soft warm sand squeezes between my toes. I lean my board against the wooden pier and pull my wetsuit over my arms. Scoping the surf I take note that the waves are around three or four feet tall and there are only two other surfers out. Both I can probably guess are high school kids from Forks. Nobody is on the beach yet and the pier only has one fisherman on it. The few white clouds I had once saw earlier are now long gone and it's just miles of blue sky stretching out above me. The sun sits in the middle of the sky, shining down and I can feel that today is going to hold something special.

Surfing has always been something natural for me. When I caught my first wave, it was like nothing else I had ever experienced and it made all the things that I thought were bad seem petty. Nothing mattered, all my worries disappeared the second I stood up on my very first wave and at that moment I fell in love with the ocean. Sue bought me my very first wetsuit three months after I had started surfing. She always tells me the story of the little boy that'd surf no matter how cold it was and how bad the conditions were. She'd tell me how she was walking on the beach and she saw a boy, around the age of six or seven, walking towards the forest shivering with a surfboard in one hand and a small towel in the other. That little boy was me.

That same year, winter came and I couldn't find myself to not stay out of the ocean. I was on the beach during late October, I had tried to paddle out in my wetsuit but found myself submerged in ice-cold water and immediately had to get out. The water was way too cold to surf in just a wetsuit. The next day Sue bought me a dry suit with a hoodie and booties. As I grew-and I grew quick, Sue would never forget, she was always there to hand me a new wetsuit or dry suit when I needed it the most. That's when I started working at the diner. I felt guilty, surf gear isn't cheap and she was always handing me something new. My guilt resulted in me working at the diner when she needed someone.

The surf is alright. The waves are a little sloppy and the sets are far from each other. I'm a little rusty at first, my sense of balance is thrown off. All the muscle I have now is a much different feeling while surfing then being a skinny little twig. I can feel it affecting my stability. Putting that all behind me though, I get used to it fast. Straddling my board, I watch as one of the two surfers rides a small wave back into the shore. They're definitely not locals, but they're not Forks high school kids like I thought either; probably just some second beach locals checking out the morning conditions over here.

After riding a wave in, I sit on the beach for a while admiring the view, the tall cliffs sit to the right of me. They are so much more beautiful than I remember the worn brown rock with thick patches of dark green trees at the top. I watch as the ocean storms in and pounds against the bottom of the cliffs, wishing I could be in that very patch of water. We used to cliff dive the closer cliffs and I've fought the urge to feel the wind against my skin as I fall towards the ocean ever since I left La Push last. I need to find a few of the boys to go with me, I know better than to try to go alone. In high school, some kid from Forks decided that he wanted to try it out and ended up drowning. The cliffs were almost banned to the public; Forks police fought to make it illegal to cliff dive in the county but luckily since La Push is an Indian Reservation it was quickly dismissed.

My thoughts take over my mind and any sense I have of what time it is. I get lost in the view, always spotting something new to take note of. There are so many things I that I don't remember about this place and it makes me wonder why I ever wanted to leave it. I feel old. The feeling has crept on me in the past year and even though I'm twenty-three years old, I've seen more ugly things than most forty-year olds. The realization that my life is short has finally took notice in my mind and I've come to realize that every time I gear up and hold my gun, I'm risking my life for a war that was never even ours. I am fighting for a better world, but for as long as I live, things won't change.

Walking down the pier, I take a gulp of my beer and lean my bare stomach against the old wooden railing. The sliver filled wood is hot from the sun and it immediately warms the patch of my stomach. As I stare down into the blue water a memory so far back that the edges are blurry pops into my head, I can barely remember it but it's there. I was sixteen and we always used to joke around about how if you leaned against this very railing you'd probably end up falling in the water. It was late at night and we were drunk when one of my friends mentioned it, he thought it would be funny for someone to fall in. Of course we didn't want to wait for someone to actually fall in, so we pushed one of our friends in the water. The current was strong and he was quickly sucked under before we could even stop laughing. The full moon was our light as one of the girls screamed that he was gone. It was like suddenly the feeling of being drunk was totally lost in my head. I realized that we had pushed in Sue's boy Seth; he never was a good swimmer. I didn't think then, I just jumped over the railing. I had to find him.

"I wish I could live here forever," a girl's quiet soft voice carries through the wind towards me. It sounds almost familiar but I'd never be able to tell who exactly it was. She sounds as though she's under a spell, I can hear her love for the ocean in the way she whispers those simple words.

"I don't know why. This place feels totally dirty." A sharp voice replies. It's nothing like the quiet soft voice of the girl before, this one is nasally, as if she has a stuffy nose and it's full of disgust.

The first girl ignores her. "I wish I could surf."

I lean my head to the side, trying to glance back without making it obvious that I'm looking. I glance at the blonde and see only a flash of the brunette. Realizing that I don't care if they see me staring, I turn my body so my back is resting against the wood. _It's her_, voice in my head whispers. My eyes immediately go the brunette, a tiny unreadable hope that maybe it's Isabella Swan. And it is. She's here, walking right past me, not even ten feet away. I've seen her a million times in my head ever since that day at the diner, but none of those images compare to seeing her in person. Her long brown hair is up in a messy pony tail. She has on a white cover up and I can see her light blue bikini on underneath it.

"Hey," the words tumble from my mouth before I can even register the thought. She probably doesn't even know who I am; I know exactly who she is though. It sounds stalker like and creepy. Dread fills my stomach. I do sound creepy.

The blonde glances over at me, she wears a thick cover of orange make up and you can practically see the dark hair coming in against the bleached blonde. I watch as her eyes travel over my skin-probably taking note that I'm Indian, and then they go to my beer. She rolls her eyes and looks away. Good, I want Bella anyways.

"Hello," Bella waves at me; the blonde gives her a look. "I bet the surf is amazing today." She smiles brightly and I can't help but grin back. Her smile is contagious. She continues to walk with her friend and I turn back to the water a strong sense of pride settling into the pit of my stomach.

I run the short conversation over and over in my head. Bella and the blonde girl stop at the end of the pier, not even fifteen feet away from where I stand, and look out at the ocean. I can't stop glancing over and it makes me feel like a fourteen year old girl with a crush. Not soon after I said hey, a pair of jock looking guys walk up to them. They wear green Rugby polo shirts, khaki shorts, and thick sandals. I not only instantly know that they are both douches, but they're from Forks also. All the guys from Forks dress like that these days.

The brunette wraps his arm around the blonde girl; she lets out a loud annoying laugh before shoving him away. I don't pay much attention to them; my eyes are fixated on Bella. The blonde guy goes up to Bella and gives her a long hug. Her whole body language is uncomfortable, like she doesn't really know the guy. He let's go of her and slides up on the wooden railing, sitting with his hands at his side and his feet locked into the wooden bars.

I sip my beer. I don't have a good feeling about this guy. He's shady and I'm ninety-five percent positive that he's one of the guys who trashed the tribe meeting on the beach the last time I was here. Him and a couple of buddies set fire to the beach and ruined some tribal artifacts. We almost banned any Forks citizens from our land, but in the end we are forgiving people, so we didn't. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch as the blonde hair boy laughs and throws his arms out like he is explaining something. His right hand hits the bag that sits on the railing and I watch as it tumbles into the ocean.

"My bag!" Bella gasps, standing on her tippy toes as she bends over the railing. The orange bag hits the water with a small splash and is almost immediately sucked under by a small wave. The blonde hair is now next to her, I hear him repeat I'm sorry a few times.

"Well go get it Mike," Bella's blonde friend demands. Mike looks at the three of them in shock, his mouth wide open.

"You want me to jump into that water?" Mike asks, his finger-pointing towards the ocean. I roll my eyes, _what a puss_.

"Yes! That has everything in it," Bella cries, her hands gripping at her head. Frustration rolls off of her like the waves that crash under us at this very moment.

Mike leans against the railing; he glares down at the water. "I said I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push it over."

I don't think he understands that it doesn't matter whether he pushed it over. The girl just wants her damn bag, it's not rocket science.

"My bag," Bella groans, trying to spot it in the water below. That's when I see it, a flash of orange just under the surface of the water, right below where I stand. The waves are carrying it towards the shore, but it will never make it on its own.

At that moment, my decision is already set in stone. I don't know what could drive me to do what I'm about to do, and maybe that is why I go through with it, because I don't think. My hands grip the edge of the railing and I pull myself up so I'm standing on the thick slice of wood. Looking down, the ocean crashes below me and I realize that it's just like what I've been dying to do since I got back. It can't be too much different from cliff diving and it's far less of a drop. I feel as if I'm sixteen again and I'm watching Seth fight against the waves below me, I know I can't just sit here and watch the desperation in the way his arms grind against the rapid current, I can't watch the desperation as he screams help and none of us do anything. My decision is set and like I did so many years ago, I dive.

* * *

><p><em>I'm not sure if I liked how this chapter turned out.<em>

_Please let me know what you think._

_Sorry for any grammer or spelling mistakes. There are always mistakes I miss._

_Thank you. Xx_

_-Rosie_


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